


Day in the Second Life

by gardnerhill



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in the future, flying cars and robot servants can’t fix everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day in the Second Life

**Author's Note:**

> For JWP 2013 Prompt # 13: **One of those days:** Murphy's Law says that when things can go wrong, they will.

The morning the Mahare case was scheduled to go down began with a recording on the console informing Holmes that Watson had turned himself in to the maintenance department for a mandatory recharging and upgrading for all compudroids in his series, which meant that Holmes would be on his own that day. He should have taken a Watsonless day as the harbinger it was and stayed in. He did not.

London might have changed drastically in 300 years, but the rains were just as dreary as ever, and this downpour was accompanied by a wind that turned Holmes’ umbrella inside-out minutes after he exited Lestrade’s car; he was soaked to the skin seconds later.

The air might be cleaner – no more charcoal nor sulphur-tinged fogs – but the ground was just as filthy, and a slip on the concrete left Holmes with mud and petroleum-based mire smeared down his damp front. “Trainers, Holmes, I keep telling you to switch to trainers,” Lestrade said in exasperation as she helped him up and tried to wipe some of the gunk off.

Someone had twigged and told Mahare, because he was gone when they arrived at his den – but only just ahead of them, for Holmes saw the drug-counterfeiter exiting via a walkway. In his haste to return to Beth’s aircar to give chase, the rain and the mire did their number, and he went down again – this time with a turned ankle.

“Nice job, old man!” Mahare shouted, gesturing with the one-finger version of the vulgarism as he disappeared into his aircar.

“Go! Go after him!” Holmes yelled through his pain, waving his arm.

But Lestrade stayed to help him up and half-carry him to her vehicle. “We’ll get him again,” she said grimly as he hobbled, gasping in pain. “I’m not leaving you with a bad foot where some of the local jailbirds might want to wreak a little revenge.”

Holmes insisted on remaining with Lestrade to share the vitriol of Superintendent Greyson over the botched operation, drenched and mired as they both were; when he tried to assume responsibility, Greyson dismissed him with a hand-wave. “This is Lestrade’s operation, and she is responsible for you as well – this is solely on her.”

“Agreed, sir,” Lestrade said, eyes front and center. Holmes listened to Greyson’s tirade of the friend he’d gotten into trouble; he hadn’t thought that he could feel more wretched about this business.

The compudroid at the station tended his ankle, and he was soon free of its pain as it was made better again; but nothing could be done about his wet filthy clothing, nor the knowledge that he had failed, nor the mood that rose like the murk itself to embrace him.

Beth drove him to Baker Street in near silence, and walked him to the door with her umbrella (the rain and wind had not let up all day). “We’ll get him, Holmes,” she said again. “Have Watson make sure your ankle’s okay. Things will look better tomorrow.” She smiled a little. “Even Sherlock Holmes is permitted to have a bad day now and then.”

He nodded and went in, for once choosing the lift rather than the seventeen steps to the museum the world had made of his old rooms. He was tired, his muscles still ached, and he felt every year of his true age.

 _I wish they’d never_ –

He stopped that thought at once. What was done was done. Self-pity was deplorable.

The rooms lit automatically as he entered, which meant that Watson was not back yet. But – he sniffed, turned his head toward the lavatory. Steam? With just a hint of eucalyptus oil. Who was in the bathing room?

He took up a walking stick from near the door and went in. It was as empty as the rest of the rooms. But the bathtub was full of steaming water, redolent with his favorite scented oil.

The wall console flashed a red light to indicate a message, and he tapped it.

“Holmes, do not be alarmed at the activity which you will detect on your return.”

He closed his eyes; it was so good to hear the cyberdroid’s tone that he now associated with Watson’s voice.

“I am still between cycles on my upgrade and will be back no later than midnight. Because of this foul weather, I programmed the timer on the water-pipes to ensure that a hot bath would be waiting for you in the evening. Your supper will begin reheating half an hour after you immerse yourself. Please accept my apologies for being unable to accompany you today, old fellow. Watson out.”

He was still in his sodden and filthy clothes; but he now felt a good deal warmer than when he’d exited the lift. Losing no time, he undressed, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor. His ankle didn’t trouble him as he stepped into the tub, and he sank with a sigh of bliss into the perfectly warm water. One thing, at least, was going right today – and the care Watson took of him, even when his voice and personality emanated from a mechanical body, was as constant in this life as it had been in his previous –

The lights went out, plunging him in blackness.

He held stock-still in his bath, unable to see a thing. He heard oaths, shouting, sirens outside.

“Westminster District is experiencing a momentary loss of power,” a mechanical voice echoed from the light-poles. “Please remain in your homes until the situation has been corrected. Repeat: Westminster District is experiencing…”

And that was when Sherlock Holmes started laughing, laughing in that pitch-dark bathroom sitting in a cooling tub. His dark mood and his feeling of being old and useless disappeared.

Because Beth was right – even now, in this amazing time, sometimes you just had a bad day.  



End file.
